


Merry Christmas, Loki

by bellesque



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Special, First Christmas, Gen, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, POV Third Person, Pre-Thor (2011), Soft Loki, Wholesome Christmas, just some wholesome loki christmas content, with just a smidge of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21933580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellesque/pseuds/bellesque
Summary: Loki pays a visit to Midgard and learns about Christmas.If he could just get this mortal child off his back... literally.
Comments: 12
Kudos: 45





	Merry Christmas, Loki

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!
> 
> So this is basically Loki interacting with a child. Only in a Christmas setting.  
> I hope you guys like it as much as I enjoyed writing it!  
> This is only the first Loki fic I'm posting; I've got a multichaptered fic in the works, so if you like my writing, do stick around.
> 
> Merry Christmas! :)

**LOKI ISN’T SURE** why Midgard looks different.

He’s been here in this realm twice before. Once, with Thor, on one of his drunken escapades; the other time on his own, retrieving poetry books and other tomes for his personal collection back in Asgard. Both times were in favorable weather, bright and sunny and breezy.

This time is different, however. This time, he is greeted by the cold that he never truly feels, but what piques his curiosity is not the biting snow, no, he knows what winter is like—but the excessive amount of green and red in the land.

His and his brother’s colors.

Are they expecting the sons of Odin?

A part of him swells with pride, and it shows in his mien. Loki is about to announce to the bustling Midgardians that _Yes, one of your gods has finally arrived, you may kneel,_ but as he opens his mouth, he’s shoved forward.

Loki turns, embarrassment giving way to outrage. “Who _dares_ —”

“I’m sorry,” comes the offender’s rushed reply, “but you really shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the sidewalk, especially in the Christmas rush. But, uh, happy holidays!”

She hurries away without a backwards glance, bags upon bags in her arms, and Loki is utterly perplexed. Christmas rush? What in the nine realms…

His eyes now scan his surroundings. He hasn’t moved, not an inch, and yet the throngs of people manage to avoid bumping into him a second time. Glass windows are decorated with small twinkling lights, some with signage that read _Happy holidays_ or _Merry Christmas_. The colors green and red are predominant, ribbons and fake flowers adorning the streets, and music seems to be coming from… somewhere. Or everywhere. He isn’t sure.

It’s a little too _jolly_ for his tastes, though.

He is sure of one thing, however—the realm is alive with the energy of festivity.

Perhaps this Christmas rush is a feast of sorts?

Loki observes the flow of people and deduces he’s stumbled upon a shop district: people are going in empty-handed and leaving with a bag or two in arms. Such a strange way to celebrate a feast. Feasts involve eating and dancing, none of which seem to be happening at the moment.

He decides to investigate, deciding to first learn what the Midgardians do in these shops and what it has to do with the feast. The bell chimes as he enters one, and before he can take two strides forward a small child barrels towards him. He manages to step away in time and he mutters, “Small mortal child,” under his breath, and makes to go deeper into the shop when he’s pulled backward.

The said small mortal child is tugging at his cape with wide, wondrous eyes.

Loki exhales through his nose. The excessive amount of people outside has already gotten to his nerves. He doesn’t need a small child on his heels to add to that.

“Let go,” he says, firmly tugging at his cape. The child doesn’t relent, holding on with surprising strength. Loki’s features sink into a frown as the child giggles, and pulls once again on his cape.

The little girl is unfazed as Loki lifts up his cape, bringing her into the air as well. In fact, she seems to enjoy having her feet off the ground.

The God of Mischief brings her up to his eye level. “Do you know who I am, mortal child?” His voice is venom, a deadly whisper.

She lets out a merry squeak, eyes twinkling, and kicks against his chest so she’s swinging from side to side. “Nana Koss!”

Loki holds his cape at arm’s length, almost disgusted. “How _dare_ you kick me, you insolent child! I am Loki, Prince of Asgard, God of Mischief, and I will _not_ —”

“That your daughter, sir?”

Loki sets the girl down unceremoniously, but instead of crying (as he expects) she picks herself up and begins running around Loki, wrapping his cape around him like he is a gift to be wrapped.

“Excuse me?” Loki’s voice is indignant. He reads the nametag on the person who’s just now made his presence known. “Does she _appear_ as though she could be my child, Larry?”

“Actually, it’s uh, it’s Harry, the H just got a little smudged…”

“I don’t care. Remove this little beast from my person immediately.”

The little girl has now latched onto Loki’s leg. He tries to walk, but as he lifts his leg, the girl only makes an irritating squeal of excitement that makes Loki’s ears bleed.

Oh, _joy._

“I don’t know, sir, it seems like she’s quite taken with you. Are you sure you’re not a relative? She’s been here all morning, no one came to collect her, poor thing.” Harry pats the little girl’s head, and she burrows her face into Loki’s boot.

“Understandably so,” Loki mutters. He shakes his leg, trying to get her off, but it only makes her laugh. An even more irritating sound than her shriek.

“Nana Koss!” the girl says again.

“There. Perhaps that’s who you should be looking for. Nana Koss, so she says.”

Harry laughs, patting Loki on the back. “She thinks you’re _Santa Claus_ with your costume on.” He ruffles the little girl’s head. “But kiddo, Santa Claus is a nice, kind, big old man who wears red, not green.”

“You mean Thor?” Loki almost spits. Of _course_ Thor gets his own feast on Midgard. He’s insulted that this Harry person called his Asgardian garb a _costume_ , but what nettles him further is the fact that this feast is centered on Thor. It’s always Thor. Never him. Why is he not surprised?

“Who? No, sir, Santa Claus.” He points outside, where a large bearded man rings a bell as he walks.

There’s a hint of relief in Loki’s expression at the admission that Christmas isn’t about Thor, but Harry doesn’t catch it. “Then problem solved. I shall take this little munchkin to Sir Santa Claus.”

Loki wrenches the little girl from his leg, still holding her at arm’s length. He winces as she flails in his hands, kicking and screaming at the air. He’s tempted to use his seidr, but he doesn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention. There is too large a crowd outside. It’s best if he stays as inconspicuous as possible.

He approaches the large man in a red suit, and the girl goes quiet.

“Stay that way, you little beast. You don’t want to find out what I can do. I have power you can only dream about,” he says in a low voice.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Santa Claus booms.

“Merry… Christmas,” Loki returns uncertainly. He shoves the little girl into Santa’s chest. “I believe this belongs to you.”

“Aren’t you an elf rough around the edges, eh?” Santa laughs heartily, and Loki’s eyes narrow. Santa continues.

“Being so rough with the children. I’m sorry, little one, for this poor elf of mine’s going on the naughty list!”

At Santa’s jovial tone, the little girl seems delighted, and presses her face into Santa’s pillowy stomach.

“I am no elf. And… naughty?” Loki echoes. “I haven’t been called that since I was a boy. Please, if anything, I’m more of a mischief-maker. Havoc-wreaker. Naughty just doesn’t quite cut it anymore.”

To Loki’s surprise (and horror), Santa pats him on the cheek. His eyes crinkle.

“So much bitterness for such a young man. Your daughter and I will only take a minute.” He bends down and scoops the girl his arms. “Now tell Santa what you want for Christmas, little one.”

Santa and the little girl sit in rapt conversation while Loki stares at them in confusion.

“She is not my daughter,” he calls out, albeit belatedly.

After a while, Santa Claus straightens up and leads the little girl by the hand back to Loki. He takes a step back, his defenses going up.

“You’re mistaken, Sir Claus, this child is not mine,” Loki argues.

“Yet you and she have a bond.” Santa gives him a cryptic look. “Find her parents. No one else is as relentless as you are, I think.”

“I could leave her in the streets.”

“But you won’t.”

“What makes you think I won’t?”

“Because you brought her to me.”

Loki glares up at this Santa Claus character. He might not be Thor, but he is equally as irritating and righteous as his brother.

“I take it Christmas is about you, then.”

“Me?” Santa chuckles. “No, son. Christmas is about loved ones. Spending time with them.”

The little girl takes Loki’s hand, and there’s something about the simple gesture that renders him speechless. She isn’t full of energy, kicking and screaming and running. It’s as if she’s had her fill and is sated. It’s almost as if taking Loki’s hand is instinct.

And something washes over Loki in an instant.

“Tell me more,” he finds himself saying, and Santa smiles.

“You might want to change into something a little less eye-catching first.”

Speaking with Santa was a mistake.

It isn’t that learning about Christmas (which isn’t a feast, but a holiday: two different concepts, apparently) was eye-opening by any means. No, he deems Christmas far too sentimental for his liking. Loki at least understands what the holiday is about.

But the little girl is well and truly taken with him now, and he isn’t sure if he can get rid of her.

She’s annoying. She’s far too clingy. She’s loud, she tests what little patience he has, and—

“Up.”

Loki stops walking, whirls around, and crouches before her. Internally he cringes; if Thor or the Warriors Three were to see him, reduced to kneeling before a mortal, _a_ _child no less_ , he’d never hear the end of it. But as the little girl is taken with Loki, a part of him begrudgingly admits he’s grown accustomed to her company in the past few hours. Perhaps he’ll even go as far as to admit that he’s growing fond.

No, he pushes the thought back instantly. No fondness.

“Up,” she repeats again, tugging on the lapel of Loki’s black suit urgently.

“What do you mean, up, child? Have a look, my cape is gone. And I can’t make you fly.”

Before Loki can ask her again she’s clambering over him, and somehow Loki is struck with a sense of familiarity. He’s seen this before. Has he experienced it? He isn’t sure.

But he obliges anyway. He adjusts the child’s position so she’s sitting safely atop his shoulders, her legs dangling on either side of his neck. Given his height, he knows she towers over the sea of people, sitting almost a full foot above everyone else. She laughs with childish delight as Loki stands, and he almost smiles.

Almost, because the child tugs at his hair painfully.

“Little beast,” he mutters.

They walk like this for a while, garnering a few amused looks from passersby. The little girl has made her home comfortably on Loki’s shoulders, and after a while he doesn’t seem to mind. She barely weighs a thing, and with the way she behaves it’s clear that she trusts him somehow.

 _She trusts him_.

She tries to hum along to the tune playing from the speakers, the only noise he can hear apart from the white noise from the crowd around him. She abruptly stops and pulls hard at his hair.

“ _Ow,_ you little—what?”

She points to a little boutique, filled from floor to ceiling with what appear to be toys.

Santa had filled him in on the fact that part of the holiday was giving gifts. So what does Loki do?

He goes into the store, and turns a rubber snake into a real one.

He expects to finally, _finally_ be rid of her, but as the snake nips at her heels, the child only yips and giggles. Loki watches with fascination as she begins to chase the snake.

He knows no harm will come to her. He only wants to frighten her enough to forget about him. Yet it seems to produce the opposite: she’s positively entranced by the snake, her short legs carrying her towards it as fast as possible. With a wave of his hand, the snake turns back into rubber, and she falls forward from the lost momentum.

“Silly little mortal child,” he comments, picking her up and righting her on her feet.

And off she goes, taking off running again, this time aimlessly, and Loki allows her to point at a toy she seems to like. They leave the shop, much to her disappointment, only to turn the corner. Loki crouches down in front of her again, using his seidr to conjure up the item she was eyeing earlier.

Her eyes light up, brighter than the twinkling lights strung all around him, and Loki softens.

He at least understands just a sliver of the Christmas spirit.

Dusk is settling, and Loki knows it’s best to return to the place where he found the little girl.

It’s the only logical course of action: her parents would return to the same place, where they initially lost her.

A part of him is glad.

A part of him not so much.

As the bell chimes again, the little girl lets go of Loki’s hand, and she runs into the arms of her awaiting parents.

“Thank you so much, sir,” the mother says, full of emotion. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”

“You shouldn’t have lost sight of her in the first place.”

Loki’s tone is clipped, cold towards them. At the sight of her, he softens again. He crouches down to her eye level, where she looks on at him.

He knows he shouldn’t be attached to this little girl. She has been nothing but annoying, far too clingy, loud, testing what little patience he has—and yet, the sheer look of delight on her face when he gave her a gift tosses all those things out the window.

Perhaps she reminds Loki too much of himself. Causing trouble, mischief, both knowing what they want and being unafraid, her more so than him. Perhaps this is the reason why he can feel some sort of kindred fondness for this child. Perhaps it is why he has trouble saying his goodbye.

“Thank you for today, little mortal child,” he says softly, patting her on the head. “Do not forget me as I will not forget you.”

She wraps her arms around Loki’s shoulders, and he’s sure she somehow understands.

When Loki arrives back in Asgard, he’s quick to return to his standoffish ways.

“Brother? Where have you been?” Thor asks when Loki strides into the palace.

“Midgard,” he answers shortly.

“And what came of your travels?”

“Nothing that concerns you.” Loki stops, and turns to Thor. “Except one thing, brother.”

“What?”

“I want to celebrate Christmas.”

“Christmas?”

“Yes, brother.”

“And what in the nine realms is Christmas, Loki?” Thor shakes his head, and Loki stares out to the rainbow bridge. A reminder of his travel today. A reminder of a gleeful laugh.

“You’ll see. I think you’ll like it, actually. Now, we’re going to need green garlands. A lot of them.”


End file.
